Romance College Confessions: with Priya and others

[rajesh93]

Scene 7 – A Visit to Priya’s House
 
That evening, I stood outside Priya’s house, my heartbeat quickening in a way I couldn’t explain. I had been here before, yes—but always for gatherings, laughter, noise. Tonight, it was just me. And her.
 
I rang the bell, my hand trembling slightly. The door opened.
 
And there stood Sushma.
 
The black saree clung to her like it had been made only for her. Its thin golden border traced her curves, emphasizing the full shape of her chest before falling gracefully down her side. The fabric caught the light, hinting at the firm swell beneath, making it impossible not to notice the soft rise and fall of her breasts as she breathed. For a moment, my throat tightened.
 




“Rahul! You’re here,” she said, her smile warm, her voice carrying that low, soothing lilt I’d heard so many times—but tonight it struck me differently. “Priya’s upstairs. She’ll be down in a moment.”
 
Her eyes lingered on me, calm, knowing.
 
“Come in, beta,” she said, stepping aside. The movement made the pleats of her saree sway gently against her hips, and as I brushed past, the faint scent of her jasmine perfume slipped into me like a secret.
 
The living room glowed in soft yellow light. Family photos, flowers, the smell of cookies in the air—it should have felt familiar, comforting. Yet tonight, there was something charged about it. Maybe because I was alone here. With her.




 
“Juice or tea?” she asked, tilting her head, one earring brushing against her cheek.
 
“Juice, Aunty. Thank you,” I managed, though my voice betrayed my nerves.
 


She gave me a smile, turned, and walked toward the kitchen. My gaze followed without permission. The black saree revealed the delicate curve of her back, bare and smooth except for the slender strap of her blouse. The sight was maddening, the gentle arch of her spine, the way her waist narrowed before swelling into her hips. A forbidden thought stirred in me: how it would feel to trace that line with my hand.




 
I sat on the couch, restless. My heart was beating too fast, and yet I couldn’t stop myself from stealing glances at the doorway until she returned.
 
When she came back, she carried the juice with such grace that even the small gesture looked deliberate, almost sensual. As she leaned forward to place it on the table, the blouse strained slightly against her chest, offering me an unintended glimpse of the fullness I was already trying not to stare at. My hand brushed hers as I reached for the glass. Her skin was smooth, warm. A current shot through me.
 
“Here you go, Rahul,” she said softly. “Priya will be down soon.”
 
I swallowed. “Thanks, Aunty.”
 
She lowered herself into the armchair opposite me, crossing her legs with quiet poise. The saree folded neatly around her thighs, the motion emphasizing the smooth shape of her calf. She leaned back, her chest rising gently beneath the black silk, and her eyes settled on me in a way that made it hard to breathe.


“So,” she said, her tone calm, almost intimate, “how is college treating you? Priya tells me you’re one of the brightest in your class.”
 
I gave a nervous laugh, rubbing my palms against my knees. “It’s… busy, Aunty. Projects, deadlines, stress. You know how it is.”
 
She tilted her head, her lips curving. “Hmm. I remember those years. Long nights, heavy books. But you seem to handle it well.”
 
“I try,” I murmured.
 
Her gaze didn’t waver. “I can see that,” she said, her voice dropping just slightly lower. There was something in the way she said it, something that reached past the polite words and touched a place I didn’t dare acknowledge.

 



The silence stretched, filled with the quiet hum of the ceiling fan and the sound of my own heartbeat. She adjusted her saree lightly, tugging the pallu closer around her chest, though the movement only made me more aware of the soft heaviness beneath it.
 
I looked down quickly, embarrassed at myself. But her voice pulled me back.
 
“Relax, Rahul,” she said gently. “You look so tense.”
 
Her words, though innocent, felt like an invitation. My mouth was dry, and yet I forced a smile. “Just… not used to being here without everyone else, Aunty.”
 
Her eyes softened, and she leaned forward slightly, her elbows resting on the armrest. “Don’t worry. You’re not a guest here. You’re family.”
 
The word should have comforted me. Instead, it tangled with the heat simmering beneath my skin, making it harder to fight the dangerous pull of her presence.
 
And in that moment, sitting across from her, I realized: I couldn’t stop myself from noticing her. The swell of her breasts beneath the black silk, the graceful arch of her back, the warmth in her eyes that seemed to reach places I shouldn’t let it.
 
It was wrong. It was forbidden. But I was already lost in her.